This person, apparently obeying a signal from another man of his own
type who had just emerged from the elevator, hastened from the cafe,
and the two ran to the door. Now, the weather had been mild during the
afternoon, and the revolving shutters of the doorway were folded back
to allow of the overheated hall being cooled. A porter stood there,
and it was ascertained afterwards that, noticing a certain air of
flurry and confusion about the foreigners, he asked if they wanted a
taxi. They gave no heed, but continued to gaze up and down the street,
as though they awaited someone. Equally did they seem to expect, or
dread, an apparition from the hotel. It would have been hard to pick
out, at that instant, two persons more singularly ill at ease in all
New York.
Curtis saw that the clerk, now at his desk, was engaged with a lady, so
he strolled to the door, being rather interested in the excited antics
of the pair on the sidewalk. He had just passed through the door when
an automobile dashed up, and he fancied, though he could not be quite
sure in the half-light, that the chauffeur nodded to the waiting men.
The porter opened the door of the automobile, and a young man in
evening dress, and carrying an overcoat, leaped out. Obviously, he was
in a desperate hurry, and Curtis heard him say in French:
"Don't stop the engine, Anatole.
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